


Hear Your Voice

by writergirl8



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Endgame Romione, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, they pretend that it is the last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, everybody! I’m putting the author’s note before the fic because I think that it’s extremely important to let you all know that this fic is not condoning Ron and Hermione’s actions. It is not something that I think would happen to Ron and Hermione, nor do I agree with what they do. I wanted to write it because, as a writer, it was an extreme challenge for me. I also wrote it because I believe that one great thing about fanfiction is trying to force the characters to find their way back to each other in so many warped situations, and this is as warped as you can get. I hope that you are able to enjoy this fic for what it is. A playlist for this fic can be found at 8tracks(dot)com/singactdance411/hear-your-voice. If you would like to talk to me, you can find me at rongasm on tumblr or as writergirl8 on twitter, but please don’t preach to me about the actions of these characters. I know. Okay, you can read now. ~writergirl8

**2002**

**_December 23 rd_**

The first time it happens, they pretend that it is the last time.

 She pushes the bra straps over her shoulders without looking at him, and when he reaches to the floor to grab his boxers, he makes sure to keep his back to her so that she has a few moments to dress herself. It’s not like he hasn’t seen her naked before, but this time it’s different. This time, it was an accident.

This time, they’re not in love.

He thinks that they’re not even going to talk about it, but when he’s pulled his shirt over his head and turns around, her eyes are wide. Shocked.

“What?” he asks.

“You’ve got scratches all over your back,” she says quietly. “My nails, I guess.”

Ron ghosts his thumb over his bottom lip, trying not to think of the brush of Hermione’s lips against it. She used to caress his back lovingly during sex, careful not to hurt him. But she doesn’t love him anymore, and so it makes sense that it doesn’t matter as much to her.

He can’t help but wonder if this was her way of branding him, though. Of making him her own.

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it’s not okay. Usually she’ll leave crescents all over his shoulders; half-moons that fade after a while. This time, he knows that he’s going to find angry red marks trailing down his back and nobody is going to bother kissing them away.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Me too,” he replies, although he’s not really sorry. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s perfectly normal,” Hermione says brusquely, smoothing her hands over the fabric on her upper thighs before rising off of the bed. “Backsliding is a perfectly common thing to occur to people who breakup.”

He can’t feel the tips of his fingers as she walks calmly over to the door, not allowing herself to look backwards at him as she goes.

“Will I be seeing you at Christmas dinner tomorrow?” he calls out before he can stop himself.

Hermione hesitates with her hand on the door, curling around the bronze material of the knob. He can see a shake in her other hand, the only thing that lets on to how shaken up she is about what they’ve done.

“I don’t know how proper that would be,” she tells him, choosing her words very carefully. He’s grateful that there’s nothing patronizing in her tone.

“Why?” he inquires drily. “Not a big deal, is it? What’s that you said? Couples backslide all the time? They’ll practically be expecting us to shag on the table, won’t they? Because it’s perfectly normal.” 

Hermione closes her eyes briefly before swiftly opening the door and catapulting herself through it.

“I’ll see you at Harry’s New Years’ eve party,” she says quietly. Her soft words grate against his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, watching as the door slowly clicks shut. “Seeya.”

**_December 31 st  _ **

Hermione Granger is drunk.

Over the years, Ron has gotten pretty used to spotting the signs, and right now, she seems to be exhibiting all of them. She’s clutching the delicate stem of a champagne glass but taking large gulps from it, refilling quickly. She keeps shifting from foot to foot but teetering back and forth, unable to stay steady. A loud giggle sometimes bubbles up through her lips when the guy that she’s talking to says something funny, and the giggle consumes the room. Ron gets wrapped in it almost as soon as it leaves her mouth, but when he looks around the room to see everybody else’s reaction, the entire crowd seems unperturbed. He wonders whether he’s the only one that’s paying attention. The thought causes him to pour himself another shot.

It’s a well-known fact that she absolutely hates New Years’ eve- hates it with a passion. When they were together, they had usually spent the night at home, devoutly ignoring anything related to the holiday. Instead, they would pretend that the champagne was just for fun, watching movies and talking until the clock turned to midnight, indicating the New Year. Hermione had always been grateful for Ron’s willingness to ignore the holiday, but as they had broken up three months ago, he hadn’t been able to do that for her this year. And it sucks for the both of them because being around Hermione for so long has made Ron hate New Years’ eve and now there’s nobody to hate it with him.

Jealousy rises up in him when he sees Hermione laugh loudly again, reaching out a hand to touch the man’s arm. In the back of his mind, he wonders if she’s had sex with anybody since they broke up. Aside from that one time with him, of course. He’s so wrapped up in this thought that, when Luna sits down on the couch, Ron doesn’t even notice her presence until her musical voice hits his ears.

“Hermione looks awfully interested in that man,” she notes lightly. “Don’t you think?”

“Yep,” Ron agrees angrily, downing another shot.

“It’s rather unfortunate that he’s married, isn’t it?”

He wonders what she wants him to do with this, so he gives her a disbelieving glance. Luna responds by pointedly raising her eyebrows and using her chin to gesture over to Hermione and the man.

Ron slams the shot onto the table, rises from the couch, and immediately starts walking towards Hermione. He doesn’t look back, but if he had, he suspects that he would have seen a very satisfied look on Luna Lovegood’s face.

“Hi,” Ron says, wrapping his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “How’s your wife doing?”

In spite of her drunken state, Hermione’s eyes widen with alarm.

“You’re married?” she asks. Protecting herself, she takes another gulp of champagne.

“You can go now,” Ron tells the man, raising an eyebrow, and he scurries off immediately.

Hermione turns to Ron, lower lip quivering as she brushes the lip of her glass against it.

“I didn’t know,” she says into her flute.

“I know,” he promises. “But you’re still not making very good decisions tonight.”

“I hate New Years’ eve,” she sighs, pouring another portion of champagne into her glass and taking a sip. “I fucking hate it, Ron.”

He picks up a shot from a passing tray and downs it, wincing at the harsh taste.

“Me too.”

“It just reminds you of all the mistakes you made and the things that you didn’t do and the fact that you’re one year closer to dying.”

He wishes that he had taken more shots, because she’s getting closer to him and her breath smells like expensive champagne and her simple black dress is the same one that he peeled off of her body and threw to the floor after her birthday dinner in September.

“You’re a fucking ray of sunshine,” he notes, and Hermione laughs loudly, tilting her head to the side as her eyes somehow fixate on the view of his.

“You’re _so pretty_ ,” she says sincerely, reaching a hand to brush some red hair out of his face. He closes his eyes against the tenderness of her touch. “Do you want to get me out of here?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen, so there’s absolutely no dubiousness in whether or not I’m consenting. Believe me. I consent.”

“I love you too,” he says, voice clear and strong. Even though they’re not together, it doesn’t mean that they don’t love each other. It just means that they don’t work as a couple. There’s a clear cut difference in Ron’s mind. 

It _doesn’t_ mean that the word “love” doesn’t hurt right now. That it hadn’t pierced him when Hermione had whispered, “Maybe love isn’t enough,” in the smallest voice that he had ever heard her use. But he doesn’t want to think about that right now, because he’s drunk and she’s drunk and they’re too drunk to remember why they had decided not to continue shagging.

The streets are slippery with rain, water sliding effortlessly down the hill that Ron and Hermione are stumbling down. There are cheers coming from almost every house on the street, and loud music thumping through the air, rattling windows. The bitter air feels cool on his face, and he likes the way that it nips at his skin, making him feel like he’s awake again after being in the party for such a long time.

But then he glances up from his shoes, from the street, and his eyes land on Hermione. She’s several paces ahead of him, standing under a lamppost, her eyes closed and her face turned up towards the lightly spitting sky. He’s drunk again almost immediately, foggy and cloudy, and when he looks at her, his self-control vanishes.

Hermione’s eyes open and she gives Ron a brilliant, heart stopping smile. Reaching out, she wraps her hand around the lamppost, swinging around it.

“You make me swing around lampposts,” she sings, giggling through her words. He raises an eyebrow, trying to pretend as though a grin isn’t fighting to wash its way over his face.

“I didn’t force you to do anything.”

“No!” she shakes her head vigorously, beckoning him closer with her finger. “You. _You_ make me swing around lampposts.”

Her hand slips on the wet pole and she starts going forward. Ron catches her, attaching her fingers firmly to the long, black stem. The look in her eyes is too much, so he pushes a piece of bushy hair away from her face before wrapping his body around the pole so that he can fit his lips to hers. He braces the other hand against the pole, allowing it to support him.

It feels wrong to kiss her with something so heavy between them. He wants her body pressed flush against his; her breasts against his chest and her fingers of one hand wrapped around the strands of his hair and the other hand tracing up and down the flesh on his back, causing him to shiver.

“We have to go home,” he murmurs against her lips, forgetting briefly that they don’t live together anymore.

She nods against him, nose sliding up and down his face, and he allows his forehead to press against hers briefly before opening his eyes and taking her hand in his.

**2003**   
**_March 1 st  _ **

“Even if my cat _had_ eaten your rat, it still didn’t give you the excuse to be that mean to me.”

“I was angry at your cat!”

“But _I_ didn’t eat Scabbers. And Scabbers was actually Peter Pettigrew, so that makes you even more of an arse in this story.”

“No, hang on. We didn’t _know_ Scabbers was Pettigrew. I demand that this be stricken from the story.”

She sighs exaggeratedly and digs her fork into the cake, scooting up on the mattress to get closer to her object of desire. Ron’s eyes are focused on her when she looks up and he narrows them at her as she puts the bite of cake into her mouth.

“Fine,” Hermione says, nodding. “I officially strike that bit of evidence from consideration.”

“Shall we shake on it?” Ron teases, and when she sticks out her hand, he discards it, instead choosing to lean forward and suck off a bit of orange frosting that is resting on her bottom lip.

“Is that how you used to ‘shake on it’ at school?” Hermione questions, a smirk in her voice.

“Oh, don’t ruin this lovely evening by making me think about that,” groans Ron, grabbing her pillow and bashing it over his head dramatically. She slithers closer to him and begins leaving small kisses on his shoulder; his chest; his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I won’t ruin your birthday by forcing you to imagine snogging Harry at the age of seventeen.”

“Oh god!” Ron moans again. “Hermione. Stop. Stop it right now.”

“Stop kissing you?” she asks innocently. “Oh, okay.”

She turns around and attempts to get out of the bed, but he wraps an arm around her waist and drags her back to him, pressing a kiss against the top of her head as soon as he’s got her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes slip closed, content, and she kisses his shoulder briefly before beginning the process of falling asleep in his arms.

“Hermione?” She doesn’t open her eyes; just nods affirmatively to let him know that she’s listening. “We’ve shagged four times since we broke up.”

“We can go for five when I wake up,” she says decisively, stifling a yawn.

“No, hang on,” Ron says. “Don’t go to sleep just yet.”

Hermione opens her eyes.

“What is it?”

“You said that once wasn’t weird. Is it weird now?”

She turns onto her stomach, biting her lip as she looks up at him.

“I love you,” she says. “And you love me.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“So even though we didn’t really work as a couple, maybe it’s… maybe it’s okay that we’re not giving this part up?”

“Mum always says that I shouldn’t be doing something if I can’t tell her about it. And shagging you while not being in a relationship with you is not something that I want to tell my mum about.”

“Ron, did you tell your mum when we first started having sex when we were eighteen?”

“No, but it was implied.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Having sex with your ex all the time isn’t normal.”

“Hey, that rhymed!”

“I’m not even going to acknowledge that you just said that.”

“Fine, it’s not normal, it’s not _wrong_. And maybe… maybe that’s what works for us. Maybe that’s what makes us happy.”

“We make each other happy,” he says slowly, staring into her eyes.

Hermione squints.

“Are you trying to stop us from having a relationship involving no-strings-attached sex?”

He feels turmoil in his stomach as he answers,  

“No. No I am not.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

**_April 19 th_ **

“I met someone.”

He says it so randomly that Hermione pauses in her reach for another scoop of mashed potatoes. Ron watches her fingers flex on the serving spoon, first nearly dropping it, then tightening themselves around it in order to control herself. She sets the spoon down very carefully, allowing a very fake smile to consume her expression.

“That’s lovely.”

“Her name is Anna.”

“How wonderful.”

“I’m thinking of asking her out.”

A line appears between Hermione’s brows as she squeezes her eyes shut, frowning.

“Okay.”

He fidgets uncomfortably in his chair, not sure what to do.

“I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Both eyes pop open.

“You’re not!” she says too enthusiastically, a fake smile returning to her face. Ron’s eyes flick away from her face and decide to rest on the high heels that she had dumped by his door when she had walked into his flat and unceremoniously gone to the fridge, looking for something to make. She made the side dishes while he made the chicken. It was a square deal.

They work well together.

“I am.”

“I thought this would happen,” she admits. “I’ve been preparing myself for it.”

“The thing is,” Ron begins. “You don’t want anything permanent with me. But Anna… she does. She wants to get married and have children and I want that too. And we-”

“We didn’t work,” Hermione reminds him. “There’s a reason that we’re not in a relationship.”

“Right,” he agrees, flicking some peas around his plate.

She looks so pretty tonight. Half of her hair is pulled back, revealing more of her face than one would usually see with her hair down. And she’s wearing earrings, which she doesn’t do very often. He wonders if she’d had a big meeting at work today. He wishes that he had asked her about it before he built a divide between the two of them. Three minutes ago, everything was so easy. Now he wonders if he should have held on a little bit longer without telling her. Without _hurting_ her _._

“So what’s she like?”

“Hermione.”

“What’s this _Anna_ like?”

“She has brown hair and brown eyes and she likes to read,” he says emotionlessly.

Hermione chokes on her sip of water and has a long coughing fit. Ron just sits there, eyes on the table, not sure if he should be helping her. She can take care of herself. She’s always been able to take care of herself.

“Okay, Ron,” she says, finally gathering herself. Hermione’s voice is big- bigger than she is. He wonders how much effort it’s taking to make it that way. “What do you want to do about us?”

“It’s not an important thing yet,” he says, voice quiet. “Maybe we should wait to see where it goes with Anna before we make any decisions about our relationship.”

“It’s up to you to choose,” she tells him, tilting her head sideways. “Because the fallout lands on you, not me.”

They’re both still for a moment. Then he stands up and walks over to her, kneeling before her as he stretches to kiss her lips. It’s quiet and slow, long and steady, and they move together easily, ignoring the silence of the room in favor of getting caught up in each other.

“I choose having you for as long as possible,” he admits, pulling back. “I choose selfishness.”

“It’s actually quite selfless,” she points out, briefly laying a kiss on his lips. “You’re doing it for me. To make me happy.”

He wrinkles his nose as her hands brush invisible creases from his work robes.

“We make each other happy,” he says lowly. For a moment, confusion is etched across his face, but then Hermione gets out of her chair and starts walking towards the stairs. “What are you doing?” he asks. She wordlessly tosses her blazer over her shoulder, leaving it dangling on the edge of the stairs. Her shirt follows soon after, and at the top of the stairs, she leaves her skirt.

Far be it from him to refuse her when she’s in this sort of mood.

**_May 4 th_ **

The pajama top that she is wearing is white. It makes her skin look paler than usual, almost as pale as Ron’s, and the bright moon allows Ron to see through it. Even though her hair is pulled back into a neat plait, she looks disheveled, as though she has been tossing and turning all night.

“Hey,” he says through a yawn, opening the door wider for her entrance. She doesn’t come in. “I waited up for you.”

“Sorry,” she replies, not sounding sorry. Her fingers are playing with the end of her braid, giving him a chance to wonder when her hair had gotten so long. She had chopped much of it off after the war and he doesn’t remember it ever getting this long since then. He likes it, though. She looks grown up.

She’s wearing trainers, and she looks slightly flushed even though she’s pale.

“Did you jog here?” he inquires, frowning. Hermione doesn’t jog.

“Ron, a man from work asked me out today.”

His insides suddenly feel cold, and he’s glad that he didn’t turn on the lights in the hallway because now she isn’t going to be able to see the desolation on his face, thank merlin.

“What did you say?”

Her eyebrows contract.

“Well, that’s the thing.” Hermione shifts from foot to foot. She scratches her nose. She avoids his eyes. Her mannerisms tell him the answer.

“Oh.”

“His name is William,” she offers. “I don’t know why I said yes. I just did, and then I didn’t feel awful about it.”

“Okay.”

“So I figured that you have Anna, and I have Will, and now I’m not stopping you from getting serious with her.” Ron almost misses the twinge of desperation in her voice, but he catches it as she speaks and doesn’t know what to make of it. “I’m not stopping you from falling in love and getting married and making babies and growing old together.”

He pictures himself on a porch with Hermione, who has gray hair in a long plait. He pictures his own white hair, and gnarled hands, and pictures of their grandchildren littering the walls of the home that they sit at the front of. The home that they built together.

“You’re not stopping me,” he says, a note of hurt in his voice.

“But now I _really_ won’t be standing in your way.”

 _Yes you will_ , he wants to say, but she’s chosen to leave him and there’s nothing that he can do about that. She’s choosing to walk away from him and walk towards Will. Hermione’s lips are quivering, and she looks up at him like she doesn’t know what else to say to him. As if suddenly, there’s nothing to talk about. She darts forward, wraps a cold hand around his neck, and kisses him almost violently. She pulls back, her eyes searching his face, and then turns around, exiting his home once more.

“Bye,” she whispers, and he uses the word as impetus to close the door behind her.

Ron finds purchase in leaning against the wall; he slides down it, face still contorted with shock. In his mind, the word _over_ pops up several times, and he focuses solely on that, his mind buzzing with the word as it screams its way through his consciousness. They had waited for such a long time to make it _over_ and now it’s really over and he can’t help but wonder if it’s all his fault. He shouldn’t have asked out Anna. He shouldn’t have tried to have a life outside of Hermione. She’s been his life since he was fourteen years old. It doesn’t need to change now. It hadn’t needed to change.

There’s a knock on the door, and Ron doesn’t know how he’s going to gather the strength to get up, but he does. He opens it slowly, knowing who he is going to see on the other side. Hermione has got tears pouring down her cheeks, and her eyes are red, and her beautiful mouth is turned downwards.

“Hi,” she says, voice thick. “Something really awful just happened and I… I need my best friend.”

“Shit,” he sighs, pulling her into the house. She shuts the door with her foot as she tucks her head under his chin, allowing wet tears to add splotches onto his t-shirt. “I need my best friend too.”

They don’t snog. She doesn’t say that she loves him; he doesn’t tell her about the porch. They make their way over to his couch and he turns on the television that she had forced him to buy when they were nineteen and she surfs the channels until she finds a sitcom that they both like and they eat their way through an entire carton of ice cream with two spoons, laughing through the tears.

**_May 5 th_ **

He has sex with Anna.

It feels wrong.

He smiles at her afterwards, and when she presses a kiss to his shoulder, a bit of smooth brown hair slips away from her skin and tickles his arm. Ron jerks it away instinctively, giving her a painful smile. And he’s always liked snuggling, but when she moves closer to him, he pretends not to notice and turns in the other direction, not allowing her body to meld with his.

Ron wonders if he will ever be able to convince her that she was the one he wanted to be having sex with.

**_July 20 th_ **

The pounding on his door comes at 2 o’clock in the morning , shaking Ron from his deep sleep. His mind immediately jumps to Fleur, pregnant with her third child. His mum would just send an owl, but perhaps she sent George? George would think that it’s hilarious to wake Ron up at 2 o’clock in the morning with an angry, incessant pounding on his door. Groggily, he stumbles out of bed and makes his way through the flat, stubbing his toe on one of his shoes as he arrives at the door. He unlocks it and opens it, a furious swear resting on his lips, but it’s not George.

It’s Hermione.

Her eyes are wide and wild, her hair more frantic than usual.

“Thank god!” she breaths when she sees him, lurching her body forward so that she can wrap her arms around him. Ron feels shock sift through his system, slamming him in the face. They haven’t seen each other in two months. He hasn’t felt her body pressed against his in two months.

They’ve owled back and forth, but it’s been a very purposeful avoidance, and one that’s less bitter and more respectful. She knows that he needs to move on and he allows her to move on as well. Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder- everybody knows that. Being a constant in somebody’s life just makes it hurt more.

“You’re okay,” Hermione is murmuring. She says it over and over again, whispering the words into Ron’s shirt. He’s confused, but he doesn’t say anything. Instinctively, Ron raises a hand to stroke Hermione’s hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re _okay_.”

“Nightmare?” Ron asks. She closes her eyes, feeling the rumble of his voice through their hug.

“You’re alive.”

She looks up at him earnestly, tracing a finger over his jaw, then allowing it to trail down to his Adam’s apple.

“I’m right here,” he tells her, placing his hand firmly on her back, and he practically has to drag her into the flat because she’s unwilling to separate herself from him.

They stumble over to his couch together, their movements unsteady. In spite of this, Ron feels steadier than he has for two months. He sits down carefully, but Hermione just topples onto him, forcing him to lean back into the couch so that she can lie on top of him. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione exhales. Her head is right on top of Ron’s heart. He wonders if she notices how quickly it’s beating. He hasn’t been near her scent in two months. He missed her scent and now it’s coming to him in hordes. “I needed to know that you were okay. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re never disturbing me.”

She raises her head.

“Oh, come on.”

“Okay,” Ron concedes, “you might disturb me sometimes, but in the best of ways.”

Hermione laughs, her body shaking against his, and he loves the way that the sound reverberates through him. He runs a hand through her hair and wonders if she notices. If she does, Hermione doesn’t say anything about it.

“He doesn’t understand.”

Her voice is small. Ron puts his finger under her chin and lifts her head up.

“Hmmm?”

“I wake up screaming in the middle of the night and he just doesn’t understand. He asks if I’ve gotten myself any therapy or medication. But he doesn’t understand that I don’t want to fix myself. I don’t want to pretend that I’m broken when I’m not. I’m _not_ broken. I just have so many memories of being lost in those woods, without you and wanting you and never knowing if you were okay or what was going to happen next. And I was tortured. And I was attacked by a snake. And I learned that I was afraid of heights over and over again. And he knows all that, but he doesn’t _know_. He’d graduated by the time the battle happened. He wasn’t there. He pretends to understand. But he doesn’t get it.”

“I’m sorry-” Ron begins to say, but Hermione cuts him off.

“You get it. You get it, Ron.”

He runs a hand through his hair, anxious suddenly.

“Always,” he says, not sure how else to reply because Hermione knows what he’s been through and he knows what she’s been through and they went through so much together and none of it changes the fact that she probably had sex with another man tonight.

Hermione kisses his neck. She kisses his jaw. She kisses his chin.

“I missed you so much,” she murmurs, kissing the top of his cheekbone.

“Fuck it,” he grunts out, catching her lips with his.

They understand each other. He’s not going to pretend that they don’t understand each other. He’s not going to pretend that Hermione Granger isn’t the only woman that he loves.

**_October 12 th  _ **

“I had the worst day ever.”

He flops onto her couch, hitting the cushions hard, and flicks the door to her flat shut with his wand. Hermione looks up from her book, amused.

“That’s unfortunate.”

She’s curled up in an armchair, wearing one of his Weasley sweaters, the oversized maroon shirt slipping off of her shoulder to reveal the pale skin there. She looks tiny and delicate as she takes a sip of tea and gazes over at him with bright, happy eyes.

“I think that I might kill my boss,” Ron mumbles into a pillow.

“That really would be a predicament,” laughs Hermione, closing her book and setting it on the side table next to her armchair. Ron throws the pillow at her. “What?”

“You were supposed to say that you would bury the body with me,” Ron tells her in a stage whisper.

“Oh Ron,” Hermione says sincerely, “I would bury any dead body that you wanted me to. With pleasure.”

“I might have to hold you to that.”

“I really hope that you do.”

“Music to my ears, love.”

She rises from the armchair and walks over to the couch, sitting lightly on his stomach with her arms perched on either side of the armrest behind his head.

“There must be some way that you can work your frustration out,” she muses innocently. “What could that be?”

Her hair is brushing against his cheek and he turns his head sideways so that he can place a kiss on her wrist.

“I have a couple of ideas,” Ron says, eyes twinkling.

“I have willing ears,” Hermione replies, “and a very flexible agenda for the rest of the evening.”

He likes how confident she is around him. It’s different now than when they had first been having sex, when she had been sweet but timid. She’s not the same Hermione, and he’s not the same Ron, and he sees her come alive when she’s teasing him or flirting with him. He’d never expected it from her, but he feels as though he unlocked something in Hermione at some point during their relationship, and even though they’re not together, it comes back every single time they need each other.

Which is a lot.

Too much, actually.

It shouldn’t be happening at all.

He doesn’t care.

**_October 23 rd_ **

They’re both staring at the clock, practically catatonic. The green numbers are stuck on 11:59, it seems. Or maybe the clock just knows how much Ron and Hermione are dreading October 23rd. How much they wish that this day of the month would just go away, vanishing into a shadowy abyss somewhere far, far away.

12:00.

Hermione breathes in sharply as the clock displays 23/10/2003. Then she exhales just as loudly, reaching a hand behind herself to find Ron’s. She entwines their fingers and they both hold on tightly to each other’s hands, their bodies lying close together on the bed.

“Happy anniversary,” he tries to joke, but his voice is bitter.

“This isn’t an anniversary,” Hermione says flatly. “Let’s not let this be an anniversary.”

“C’mon, Hermione!” Ron punches her shoulder halfheartedly. She glares at him and rubs her bare flesh. He suddenly wishes that he were wearing clothes. “One year since we broke up. That’s… something.”

“Not a good something.”

“It’s a shitty something, but it’s a something.”

“We’re in the shittiest something in the world right now.”

“Well,” Ron says gamely, “is there anything that’s changed since we broke up? Anything that would indicate that there’s a reason to make a go of it again?”

“Aside from the fact that it’s a year later and we’re still shagging in spite of the fact that we’re both with other people?”

“Aside from that, yeah.”

“No,” Hermione says, shaking her head. “We’d still have the same problems. Nothing would change.”

Ron feels his heart clench uncomfortably.

“Do you want to stop doing whatever we’re doing?”

“No. That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t think I’m ever going to want to stop.”

**November 8 th  **

The kitchen table is piled with so many papers that Ron wonders how Hermione can even think. He’s not the most organized bloke, but when he looks at the white stacks of information that have taken over his kitchen table, he feels dizzy.

“Are you okay in there?” he asks, voice feeble. He’s uncertain as to whether he’s going to be screamed at for breaking her mental concentration but decides to take the risk.

“Fine,” Hermione calls back. She sighs, slumping in her chair more. “Okay, no. I’m not fine.”

Ron rises from his seat on the couch and steps into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have some major decisions to make about which cases my department is going to take on.”

“Why is it all on you?” Ron wants to know, scratching his nose. Hermione smiles fondly at the gesture. She has a weird thing about his nose.

“Because I’m extremely good at my job and they all like to pretend that I’m so much better at it than they are.”

“I’m not entirely sure that they’re pretending.”

“Oh, shut it, Weasley.”

He smirks.

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

He can tell that he’s piqued her interest.

“What’s that?”

“Immediately upon finishing your work, you get to have sex with me.”

She cocks an eyebrow and tilts her head to the side, scrutinizing him. Still smirking, Ron reaches behind his neck and pulls his shirt over his head.

“Can I make an addendum to that?” Hermione asks, biting her lip.

“Proceed.”

“Sex now, work later.”

Ron shakes his head.

“Nope,” he responds, popping the “p.”

Hermione groans, smacking her forehead against the table.   

“You’d better make it good,” she shouts after him as he exits the room. He throws his trousers at her in response.

**2004  
 _February 14 th_**

He shows up at her flat at 1:30 in the morning.

Ron knows that she knows what he’s been doing, but she’s been doing the same things, so he tries not to feel bad about it when he sees her lying on top of the covers of her bed wearing a red satin slip.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says fondly as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“Hi,” she murmurs, reaching for him, and he kicks off his shoes before finding his place next to her on the bed, kissing her ardently. “Mmmm. Hi.”

“You’re sleepy,” he chuckles, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

She opens her eyes wide in an attempt to show him that she isn’t and he laughs, reaching over to the side of the bed where he had dropped his bag.

“I brought you chocolate cake. Are you sleepy now?”

Hermione vigorously shakes her head, sitting up and blindly reaching out for the cake in the darkness of her bedroom. Ron hands her a plastic fork and takes the plastic cover off of the cake.

“I _love you_ ,” Hermione says fervently, moaning as the cake touches her tongue. “Oh fuck.” 

“I’m sorry that it took so long to get to you,” Ron says, sadness in his voice.

“Nonsense,” Hermione shrugs. “You had boyfriend duties and I had girlfriend duties. I understand.”

It’s a testament to how long they’ve been doing this that hearing her say those words doesn’t cause a stab of pain in Ron’s stomach.

“I’m still sorry that you had to wait so long for me to get here.”

She puts her fork down so that she can run a thumb over his cheek.

“I would have waited longer.” Ron closes his eyes at her touch, leaning into it, and kisses her palm. “After all, you brought me cake.”

**_March 1 st_ **

 “I couldn’t go to your birthday party, Ron!” She’s screaming at him, the words echoing throughout his bedroom as she paces back and forth in it. He knows that she’s wearing nice lingerie under her outfit, as is tradition on his birthday, but he hasn’t seen it yet and something in his gut tells him that he’s not going to be seeing it tonight. “I couldn’t go to your _fucking_ birthday because Anna threw the party and she failed to invite me.”

“It’s not her fault!” Ron defends. “She doesn’t know how close we are because I never tell her about the time that we’re together, on account of the fact that we’re fucking each other and I’m only supposed to be fucking her!”

He’s so angry, and it’s coursing through his veins, but he’s not furious at Hermione or at Anna. Instead, he’s furious at whatever force in the world forced him into a situation where he had to spend his birthday with every single person in his life except for the person who is the most important person in the world to him.

Anna wanted to have sex afterwards, and Ron never sleeps with Hermione when he’s shagged Anna that same day. Doing so would be wrong on an entire new level.

“But we defeated fucking Voldemort together, Ron!” Hermione yells, throwing her hands up in the air. He wonders how long it would take for her to wear a hole into his carpet. “She knows that we were best friends-”

“She knows that we are exes.”

“-And she knows everything that we’ve been through together, and she doesn’t even care enough to invite me.”

“This isn’t working!” Ron bursts out.

He wishes that he could suck the words back into his mouth as soon as he says them. Hermione stops pacing.

“You’re right. It isn’t.”

They stare at each other uncertainly.

“I can’t wait for you anymore,” Hermione whispers. “I can’t stay home every time you have a date night and wait for you to finish shagging your girlfriend so that you can come fuck me.”

“I can’t do it anymore either.”

She begins to nod, slow at first, and then faster. She ghosts a hand over her face as a pained expression crosses it, and all he can see of her is the chest that moves up and down as tears start to come to her. Silently, Hermione picks up her bag and walks out of his bedroom. Out of his flat.

He waits until he hears the door close to pick up a framed picture of himself and Anna and hurl it against the wall. It smashes instantly, the pieces smattering across the ground.

As furious as he is, at least now he knows that he isn’t the only broken thing in the flat.

**_April 8 th_ **

“Hello?”

“Hi, Hermione. It’s… um. It’s Ron.”

“Ron. Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So, um, I’m calling because Ginny wanted me to let you know that Angelina’s doing just fine. She’s healthy and the baby is healthy and everything is okay.”

“Were there any complications?”

“Yeah, with a baby that premature there had to be, but Angelina’s okay and the kid is okay and George is trying to reconcile himself to the entire thing.”

“It has to be difficult.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“What do you think I could do?”

“How do you mean?”

“To be helpful. What would be most helpful.”

“Oh!”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Ronald Weasley. They’re my family too, you know.”

“I know.”

“I can hear your smile in your voice. Are you teasing me?”

“What… _me_? Tease you? Never.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

**_April 9 th_ **

“Hello?”

“Hi, Ron.”

“Hi, Hermione.”

“I just wondered if you could call me and let me know when George and Angelina take the baby home? My mum has informed me that the best thing to do in this situation is to make a casserole.”

“A casserole, huh?”

“Yes, a casserole. Apparently they’re going to be swamped and will not feel like cooking, so flowers are useless but a _casserole_ is both delicious and helpful.”

“Have you ever made a casserole?”

“No. I think they’re easy. Hang on, did you just _snort_?”

“Um. I was coughing.”

“No you weren’t!”

“I’m very ill.”

“You were doing physical work all day today.”

“How would you know that?”

“I work on your floor, you git.”

“Are you sure you’re not stalking me?”

“Yes, that seems very likely. I never have anything to do at work.”

“I thought it seemed like the law department was slacking off a little bit.”

“Oh, definitely. We sit at our desks, drink tea, talk about the weather, and stalk our exes if we have any extra time during the day.”

“Alright. I’ll phone you when they bring the baby home.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

**_April 14 th_ **

“Okay, but did you see Gleeson today at work?”

“Hello to you too, Ron.”

“There’s no time for formalities Hermione! Did you see him?”

“I tried that Italian place that you told me about a few days ago. It was lovely.”

“Hermione! _Gleeson_. Did you see? Did you?”

“Although yesterday you told me that I hadn’t _lived_ until I tried their chicken alfredo, and I think that this statement was a gross exaggeration because, while it was good, I thought that the ambiance was better than the actual food.”

“We’ll get back to that idiotic statement later. Let’s talk about Gleeson. Did you see him today?”

“I suppose so.”

“Why did you sigh like that?”

“I didn’t sigh!”

“Yes you did. You sighed.”

“That’s ridiculous, good sir!”

“Hermione.”

“Yes?”

“Are you purposefully ignoring how hilarious his hat was in order to drive me barmy?”

“He was wearing a hat?”

“Hermione.”

“Yes?”

“Please. There is no beauty in my life, and then Gleeson comes to work wearing a fez. Please, please. I need to talk about it. I need to know that I’m not the only one.”

“I had to duck into the loo so that I could laugh at it.”

“Did he see you?”

“I’m afraid he did.”

“Oh my god. You bring me so much joy.”

“The thing is, he wasn’t even wearing it _ironically._ It was just on his head. A fez.”

“A fez.”

“No day will ever be as good as today is, Ron.”

“I second that, Hermione.”

**_April 18 th_ **

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. And, I don’t know, Hermione. I really don’t think that Indiana Jones could beat Han Solo in a fight.”

“I just think that you’re wrong.”

“I know that you do, but Han Solo is a bigger badass than Jones, frankly.”

“But I think that Jones has more practical experience when it comes to fighting. He would just shoot Solo and it would be over in two seconds.”

“Right, right. But imagine- no, listen to me, Hermione- imagine that Solo and Jones both have a lightsaber.”

“No, Solo would automatically win because he’s got more experience with that type of fighting.”

“He only uses the lightsaber in _Empire_! Jones has more experience with swords and stuff. Okay, so imagine that they both have a gun. Just a gun. That’s it.”

“I think that Jones is just more _resourceful_.”

“Ah, but Solo has Princess Leia. He’s a man in love.”

“How is that an advantage?”

“I don’t know; it just is.”

“That’s kind of stupid, Ron.”

“No! No, it’s not. If you’re in love with somebody like Han loves Leia, everything is different. Believe me. It’s an advantage.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so.”

“Han Solo it is.”

“Alright.”

**_April 22 nd  _ **

When she opens the door, he holds up a DVD and wiggles his eyebrows.

“You still have the DVD player that your dad gave you for your birthday, right?”

“Right,” Hermione says, looking very flustered. She’s in small pajama shorts and a white tank top, ready to go to bed. He had purposefully waited until late so that he could ensure that Will wasn’t there- in just one of their many phone conversations that had taken place over the last fortnight, it had slipped out that Will rarely ever stayed over at Hermione’s flat. His was bigger and grander, and he preferred it. Hermione chose to pick her battles.

“We’re watching _Empire_ ,” Ron tells her, leaving no room for denial as he invites himself into the living room and kneels in front of the television, placing the disk inside of it.

Hermione, for her part, doesn’t say anything. Just plops onto the couch obediently, a faintly amused smile playing at her lips. Ron sits down next to her, keeping a good distance away from her.

“Would you like me to narrate?” she whispers as the opening credits roll onto the screen.

“Hermione, no. You know I hate it when you do that.”

“A long time ago-”

“Ugh.”

“In a galaxy very, very far away.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me. Those aren’t even the right words. You’re literally reading the screen wrong.”

“It is a dark time for the-”

He’s kissing her. His mouth is pressing against her mouth, his nose smashed up against her nose, and his fingers immediately go to her back, sliding her closer to him. Hermione’s hands are knotted up in his shirt, tugging him closer to her. He becomes conscious of the fact that she’s trying to get her body closer to his and responds by sucking on her tongue. She makes little whimpering noises in response, tightening her grip on him with one hand and reaching up to grip his head with the other, pulling him more violently against her mouth.

“Fuck, Hermione,” Ron manages to gasp out as she unexpectedly breaks free of his lips and moves her lips down to his neck. He retaliates by moving his right hand to her arse.

“Yes please,” she hums into his skin.

**_July 6 th_ **

“This is wrong. This is really, really wrong.”

“I don’t even care.”

“No. I don’t care either.”

**_September 19 th_ **

“Where did you tell Will that you were going?”

His words are smothered by the skin that he is pressing kisses into. She smells like her orchid scented body wash and her fancy perfume. He’s spent the past several minutes of his life turning her to jelly, and her voice is breathy as she says,

“I told him that I was going on a trip with my parents.”

“Yeah, good.”

Ron’s voice buzzes against Hermione’s body, causing her to half laugh, half sigh at how it feels.

“Good,” she echoes, a smile crossing her face.

He hasn’t felt this content in a long time. When she had suggested going away for her birthday, he hadn’t realized the relief that would come from being on holiday with her. There’s no worry about a significant other walking in on them. For the first time since October 23rd, 2002, Hermione and Ron had held hands in a public place. They had gone out to dinner at a fancy restaurant, laughing and chatting and touching throughout the evening. She had blown out the candle and told him that her wish was for him to kiss her and he made it come true.

This holiday is his wish come true.

“Did you have a good birthday?” he wants to know as he gets lower on the bed. Her eyes are locked on his as he looks up at her, and in that moment, they’re vulnerable for reasons both different and the same.

She reaches down for his hand and he gives it to her, pressing his lips against the top of hers while he waits for her answer.

“It was perfect,” she says, slowly and clearly. “This is perfect.”

“Good.” He grins wolfishly, letting go of her hand. “Now I’m gonna make it even better.”

**_December 8 th_ **

He’s on one knee and there’s a ring box propped open in his hand. Hermione’s eyes are wide with shock, her hand over her mouth. The other one is gripping onto the fabric of the long maroon dress that she is wearing.

The dress that she wears the day that Will proposes to her.

Ron can’t help but realize how stupid he is as his entire life with Hermione flashes before his eyes. He hadn’t ever thought that this would happen. He had thought that if he never proposed to Anna, Will would have the same sense to not propose to Hermione. It had always seemed a given to him that they would break it off when they got caught and no sooner. He hadn’t thought that anything else could get in the way of their happiness.

Then again, when he was nineteen, he hadn’t thought that anything could get in the way of their forever. And look where they are now.

There’s no such thing as a ‘forever.’

Ron rises from his chair at the back of the room, hoping that nobody will see him as he gets up to leave. After all, he and Hermione broke up in 2002. Nobody will be expecting him to be this visibly upset. In more than two years, he should have moved past her; he should have wrangled his emotions into some semblance of control. The disaster that he is right now is not the disaster that he logically should be.

Fuck, he hates logic.

He shouldn’t have come to the fucking Ministry Ball in the first place. Will and Hermione are the goddamn power couple of the Ministry. He bitterly wonders if they still would be a so called ‘power couple’ were everyone in the Ministry of Magic to know that Hermione was still fucking her ex-boyfriend. Ronald bloody Weasley. Remember him? The boy that helped Harry Potter and Hermione Granger save Lord Voldemort?

Ron’s feet pound against the expensive floors as he exits the room and begins walking as quickly as he can down the hallways. He’s loud, but he suddenly doesn’t care if his feet are making too much noise. He can ruin Will and Hermione’s perfect proposal for all Ron cares. Fuck them.

He finally finds the door to the outdoors, a small balcony hidden from the view of curious muggles. Every floor as at least one; this particular area has a garden and a falsely excellent view of London. Ron slams the door vigorously shut behind himself and braces his hands on the gray cement that boxes him in.

The door bursts open only a few moments later.

“Ron Weasley, you _arse!_ ”

This is not the greeting that he was expecting.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

His voice sounds so exhausted.

“You’re an arse,” Hermione says clearly. “The biggest arse I have ever had the misfortune to happen upon in my entire life.”

“You seem to have a knack for falling in love with arses, in that case.”

“That’s true,” Hermione says, clipped, “but it just so happens that I’ve never fallen in love with anybody but _you_ , and you are the biggest arse of all time.”

“Okay, Hermione,” he says, unmoving. He hasn’t looked at her since she found him- he’s just been staring out into the city. “Why am I an arse?”

“You never fight for me!” she cries out. “You let the fight sag out of you as soon as there’s any form of obstacle, and the truth is, that would have been a damn good moment for you to show everybody around us that you and I are the people that belong together.”

“You think I was going to ruin his perfect marriage proposal?”

“It was too public and it was the wrong man.”

Ron pushes off from the wall, turning around so that he can brush past Hermione.

“I’m going home,” he says, voice disinterested. “I’m tired, and-”

“I told him that I would think about it.”

He stops. His body tenses.

“Oh.”

“I lied.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not going to think about it. I was never going to think about it. I’m not marrying him.”

“Good.”

He moves to the door again, turning the handle.

“Ron!” Hermione barks, desperate. “Ron, I need you to fight for me right now.”

He lowers his eyes to the door handle.

“There’s nothing left to fight for.”

**_December9 th  _ **

He breaks up with Anna. She cries. It doesn’t hurt the way he had thought it would hurt. 

When she asks why, Ron doesn’t have an answer that he is willing to give.

He feels empty and lonely.

No.

He feels empty and alone.

There’s a marked difference, he comes to realize.

**_December 20 th_ **

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“Ginny said that you broke up with Anna.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“What did you mean when you said that there was nothing left to fight for, Ron?”

“I meant that we’ve already tried and we know that we don’t work. Why would we try again? What would be different?”

“We’re older.”

“I guess.”

“We’re smarter.”

“Debatable.”

“Ron.”

“If I ask you to come back to me right now, will you say yes? If I ask you to leave him, will you shrug your shoulders and come running into my arms?”

“That’s not enough, Ron.”

“What do you mean that’s not enough?”

“I mean… go bigger.”

He doesn’t know what she means and his bones ache too much to figure it out. He hangs up the phone instead of trying.

He’s tired of trying. He wants to sleep.

**_December 31 st_ **

The knock comes at 11:00 in the morning. Ron wonders if Ginny is coming to kick his arse for not showing up to Christmas, but somehow he doubts it. The entire family is so bloody pissed off at him that, at this point, the only person that it could be is Harry. Harry has always stood by him, even when he skips Christmas. Even when he frowns on happy occasions and groans on sad ones and doesn’t hold the newest grandbaby during Sunday dinner.

But when the door opens, Hermione is standing there. She’s wearing a black coat and her hair is twisted into a bun and she’s wearing more makeup than usual. On the ground beside her there are two enormous suitcases, simple and uniform. His eyes skate over them and then he looks back up at her, raising his eyebrows.

“Your flat’s closer to work,” Hermione says by way of explanation. “And it’s bigger than mine. But we can move some of my furniture in here… especially my bookshelves. Actually, there’s no option there. My bookshelves are coming in. I hope you know that.”

She grasps the handles of both suitcases and pulls them both forward into the flat, her steps loud and confident. He realizes that she is wearing heels, which is odd because she doesn’t usually wear them on days that they don’t have work, and they’re both off for New Years.

“What are you doing?” Ron demands, rubbing one of his eyes vigorously to try to get the sleep out of it.

“I’m moving in.”

“What?”

“We’re getting married.” She sets the suitcases down in the middle of the room, places her hands on her hips, and tilts her head to the side, glaring at him. “Is there a problem?”

Ron shakes his head.

“Er… no?”

“Good. Go take a shower.”

“Wait. Now?”

“Yes. I made an appointment at the Ministry. We’re signing the papers _now_ and then we are never, ever going to let ourselves put our relationship through so much bullshit ever again. I mean, seriously. Every moment since October of 2002 has been utter and complete bullshit, and I’m done with waiting to start my life. We’re doing this. We’re giving ourselves no wiggle room. We’re going to figure out how to be in a marriage, and then we’re going to follow through.”

“This sounds extremely well thought out for what is a supposed to be a spontaneous marriage proposal,” Ron notes, starting to grin.

“Shave,” Hermione tells him, not cracking a smile.

Shaking his head, Ron walks obediently into his bathroom. When he glances behind himself, he sees that Hermione is still standing in the same place, staring at the empty piece of space where he had been staring at her seconds before.

When he gets out of the shower, she’s wearing a simple white dress. Her hair is still tied up in the elegant knot. When he approaches her wearing a black button down shirt and a blue tie, relief reflects across her face. Ron knows that it’s mirrored in his expression.

“Okay. That was real,” he says, awe in his voice.

“So real,” she agrees softly, coming closer to him. They’re half the length of a Firebolt 2000 away when Ron wraps his hand around her waist and tugs her body flush against his. “Is it okay that I’m doing this, Ron?”

“We’re doing this,” he points out. “It takes two to sign an important legal document, after all.”

“More romantic words have never been spoken,” she teases, but her voice is small. He leans down to kiss her as though doing so could pull forward the big, normal voice that she had been speaking with before he had taken his shower.

They pick out rings before they go to the Ministry. There’s a small antique jewelry store near the town in which Hermione had grown up, so they stop by her mum and dad’s house and let them know that they are going to be married before heading to the shop and picking out two simple silver bands, able to be magically sized as soon as they leave the store.

Ron and Hermione hold hands as they walk into the Ministry and everybody stares at them, and Ron doesn’t know what to do so he stands tall and proud and ignores the way the small group of people who are working are fixated on the sight of the two of them holding hands.

He signs the papers first, his hand steady. Hermione’s fingers tremble as she signs the papers, so he covers the hand that rests on the desk with his other hand. After their names are magically bound and their papers are filed by the government, they decide to go to The Burrow.

“We’re not married until mum knows that we’re married,” Ron reminds her redundantly, and Hermione just laughs and kisses him on the lips again. He places his lips below her eye, catching the salty track where a few of her tears have slid down. She closes her eyes against him, offering him a butterfly kiss in return for his affection.

His mum screams when she sees the matching rings, and then she hits Ron on the arm for not letting the family be a part of their wedding and then she decides that they’re going to have to have an announcement party to make up for the lack of actual wedding. Hermione and Ron smile and don’t argue.

“We would be happy to concede to any condition that you feel conducive to the situation,” Hermione says complacently.

Mrs. Weasley looks mollified. She gathers Hermione in her arms and welcomes her to the family. Ron thinks that he’s going to explode from happiness and then decides that promptly exploding would be a rather negative way to start a marriage.

The family congregates at The Burrow, pouring in from all over England, it seems, and Hermione’s eyes are wet with tears again when Ginny throws her arms around her and says that they’re _finally_ sisters. It’s the way that Ginny says finally that causes Ron to roll his eyes in order to stop his emotions from becoming too much.

They don’t get away until 11:30 at night. Ron and Hermione leave the house with broad smiles and hands that have barely detached the entire night. As they walk to the apparation point, reveling in the silence, Hermione laughs loudly.

“What?” Ron asks, confused.

“I just realized that my least favorite day of the year is now my _wedding anniversary_.”

A foolish smile spreads across Ron’s face.

“Oh yeah. You now have absolutely no excuse to hate New Years’ Eve.”

“Merlin save me.”

They’re silent again, walking quietly.

“Do you think we’re ever going to tell them about the last few years?”

Hermione cocks her head, thoughtful.

“Ron, we have sinned. And that’s something that we’re always going to have to live with. But I don’t think that they’re going to have to live with it as well. I think that we can keep it to ourselves.”

“Deal with it ourselves.”

“Exactly.”

“But do you regret it?” he wants to know.

“Yes and no. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

They separate hands only to apparate away from The Burrow. Ron ends up in his flat but Hermione, who has not been let into the wards yet, has to apparate outside of the door. He opens it to see her grinning face, light and alive with happiness.

“We’re not going to talk about the sad stuff anymore,” she tells him.

“Not tonight,” Ron affirms.

“It ends when I close this door.”

“Alright.”

Hermione steps neatly into the dark flat and shuts the door behind herself.

**_January 1 st_ **

She turns around to face Ron, who is already ready to put his arms around her. He does so, quite satisfied with himself.

“Hello, husband,” Hermione whispers, eyes already on his lips.

“Hi, wife,” Ron responds, voice even lower. “It’s midnight.”

“Happy… beginning,” Hermione says, choosing the latter word very carefully. Ron laughs, throwing his head back as he presses her gently against the door. He intends to kiss her as soon as he is finished chuckling.

“Happy beginning,” he murmurs.


End file.
